


Surrender One's Pride

by ziraseal



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Aspasia redemption AU, Canon Divergence, F/F, Fix-It, Fixing parts of the DLC while keeping other components, Legacy of the First Blade DLC
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:08:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25442164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ziraseal/pseuds/ziraseal
Summary: “Don’t flatter yourself, the Cult was made of venom long before your lips drank from its cup.”A broken Kassandra, having just lost her family and having sealed Atlantis, mercifully lets Aspasia live after confronting her in the shadows beneath Delphi. She sails north to Makedonia to aid strangers that have called for the services of the Might Eagle Bearer, only to stumble into a new war between Darius and Natakas, and those that call themselves the Order of the Ancients. But perhaps she doesn't have to fight this new group alone. Perhaps she knows someone, familiar with the wretched politics of shadowy organizations, who can help her take them down.
Relationships: Aspasia (c. 470-400 BCE)/Kassandra (Assassin's Creed)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 56





	1. If Kosmos controls the world, who controls Kosmos?

There were still dried flecks of blood on Kassandra’s knuckles as she pushed against the colossal doors beneath Delphi. The stubbornness of these unyielding doors tired her to the point of taking a break, and she glanced up at the columns on either side, decorated with conspicuous golden snakes.  _ Malaka _ ! To be taunted with this stupid imagery and ostentatiousness! To know that the Cult of Kosmos, ingenious in their machinations and secrets, were over-performative and obnoxious about their aesthetics to the point of bravado!

“These pediculous xanthodontous exophthalmic morsophs,” she sighed. 

Kassandra didn’t actually know what any of those words meant but ever since Sophocles had said it at the symposium and Herodotus had assured her that it was, indeed, an insult… she’d memorized it. There was a time and place to call someone a  _ malakas _ . Plus, it brought a moment of levity to her, which she desperately needed. Even if she was the only one who heard the joke. 

(Because if she didn’t cheer herself up and keep herself distracted, she’d start thinking about what had happened. About what led to this moment. How she had failed.)

The Cultist doors would not budge.

Brasidas was dead. Her mother and brother were dead. Dead because she’d said the wrong thing, pushed Deimos away from her instead of pulling him closer. Why couldn’t he have stabbed  _ her  _ instead? Why couldn’t he have just…. Argh!!!! That fucking… fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Deimos was now rotting in an unmarked grave. She’d tried to find the strength to bury him in the family crypt alongside Myrinne and Lionedas. But it wasn’t proper. He’d fought for Athenians and regarded their heritage with such a callous attitude that it didn’t feel right. If it weren’t for Nikolaus, picking up the boy’s body, wrapped in tattered linens, and guiding her to a nice field outside of Geronthai… if it weren’t for Nikolaus, she would have let the corpse rot on Taygetos. Burying his wife and son was the first moment in twenty years that he’d acted like a  _ pater _ , at least in Kassandra’s eyes. Didn’t really make her feel any better about her miserable failure to reunite her family, though.

Kassandra let out a harsh yell that startled the nearby peddlers and pilgrims, but in her moment of strength, the Cultist doors finally shifted open. With a groan that indicated it’d been a while since they’d seen use, scraping along the stone flooring. She inspected her fingertips. Dust. As expected, no one had been here in quite a while― Kassandra’s doing, of course. Forty-two of the damn bastards were dead, their blood spilled across the arid land she called home. Two yet lived; a simple farmer who only wanted to keep his people safe, and the woman who controlled the entire country.

_ The woman who had her own husband assassinated to further political goals. _

_ The woman who helped reunite Kassandra with her mother. _

_ The woman who fueled the known world into a chaotic, bloody conflict. _

_ The woman who would gently pat Phoibe on the head, clothed her, sheltered her, fed her, and treated her far better than Markos ever would. _

_ The woman who sought to control the blood running through the Eagle-Bearer’s veins, succeeding with her flesh and blood brother. _

Kassandra closed her eyes and brought out her spear. This was only going to end one way. She had to… to… do what she did best. Take the only action she could think to take. Aspasia would die by her blade, just as all of Kassandra’s enemies had. 

Almost a decade ago, she had wandered these halls in disguise, listening to the rulers of the world with her eyes wide and her soul ignorant. If only Elpenor had not sought her out. If only she could have stayed on Kephallonia, running errands for a bumbling idiot and messing up the hierarchy of local warlord bandits. Ignoring the pain inside her so that Phoibe would think she was big and strong and god-like. 

It looked the same. A big, stupid snake hanging overhead. Barely any lighting. That horrid pyramid, glowing and humming with her mother’s voice. She would find a way to cave this room in and destroy it all. But first, she had to know the truth. Her hand reached out to the glow, to this artifact that could only be from the First Civilization, and the voice of her  _ mater  _ ceased its tormenting repetitions. 

Pythagoras warned her. Warned her of the history of the Cult and how it would survive despite her life’s work. Her heart thudded in pain, breaking as she watched visions of the world continuing to evolve and grow. People struggling, as she had, to fight off organizations boasting the likes of Kleon and Pausanius. Even as Greece as she knew it crumbled to dust and cities hosting curious contraptions and architectures rose. What… what was the point of it all? The image of Pythagoras flickered as he gave her one last smile, and vanished. 

The footsteps behind her were neither quiet nor loud. They were neither comforting, nor brought her anguish. They just were.

“I remember you telling me how the ‘Cultists are so enamored with their own mysticism’ long ago,” Kassandra sighs, not looking back. “Something about the caves of Mt. Zas, wasn’t it? When you had me thrown off your scent and chasing after Silanos.”

“Hmm… yes. The presentation  _ is  _ all a bit garish. Making everyone believe that it was all in the name of Kosmos only works if you have something to fear. We were all afraid of each other, of our soldiers, of our own masks.”

Aspasia’s voice was calm. Too calm. 

“I really, really didn’t want this to be true. None of the letters openly stated your name. I pieced it together but I was desperately hoping that―”

“That it was Alkibiades? Demosthenes? Or perhaps some elderly witch who lived in the Parnes Mountains, hunched over piles of sacrificed bodies?”

“Yes.”

She finally turned to face the consort of Perikles, in fine purple robes and glimmering jewelry that reflected the flickering lights of the fire beneath the pyramid. Her hair was masterfully done, likely by a Kirrhan servant or slave, and her hands held each other with the poise and dignity unbefitting of someone who had just lost her monstrous grip on the entire world. That was it, wasn’t it? These two women were forsaken and alone together in this cave, having had their entire lives destroyed... having destroyed each other. 

It almost seemed as though the only difference between Aspasia and Kassandra was that the latter had a spear in her shaking hands, ready to strike.

“Hmm… I want you to give me a saccharine, rehearsed, perfected explanation that dilutes your role in all this to mistakes and mishaps. Tell me to my face that you never planned for Perikles to die, as I pull out a piece of parchment addressed to Kleon that says otherwise. I want you to promise and plead that Deimos was uncontrollable and I will show you a letter that says, right up until the end, you were lying to him about me. Those words would prompt him to stab my mother and attempt to kill me once and for all, written in your delicate Athenian script. You destroyed my life and I would love to hear your defense. Go ahead, Aspasia, I want you to do what you do best.”

There was a wavering. A hesitation. Aspasia closed her eyes, her poise dropping ever so slightly.

“I could. I could convince you that I have some grand plan to establish a good, ordered Republic from the ashes of the Peloponisian and Delian nations. I could continue to manipulate you until I had you burning down all of Greece, that we might rise again. I could weave lies that Athena herself would fall prey to.”

“Gods, I want to stab you.”

She hadn’t seen Aspasia in a long time, but Kassandra hadn’t forgotten the way the other woman’s smile  _ always  _ made her insides flutter. 

“I know. I told you the time would come when you would cut down every single Cultist. I knew this was coming.”

“Because you think that I’m a monster who knows nothing more than war and violence? Like Alexios?”

The spear glowed in Kassandra’s hands. She felt ready, her instincts already preparing the best strategy for killing this adversary. A quick step to the right, kicking her in the back of the knee and sending the Cultist of Kosmos, weakened like prey, to the ground. A slice of her dominant arm, the left one, to make sure she could not retaliate. Stepping on her neck (with the boots she’d pulled off of Podarkes still-warm corpse) and crushing Aspasia’s throat so that she would never again tell another lie―

“I came from a city far to the east, further than you have ever sailed. Miletos. To this day, it is still reeling over the onslaught of the Persians and filled with broken people. My family was poor but after the death of my mater... my pater  _ insisted  _ that I become an educated woman, that I learn to fend for myself so that I could escape that life. He threw himself into indentured servitude to make sure I’d have the finances for the most wonderful Athenian education and training. I learned quickly that if I wanted to have the life my father dreamed for me, I would need to get people to listen to what I had to say. I learned quickly that, if I wanted people to listen to what I had to say, I would need to learn how to whisper into their attentive ears. I never realized so many people  _ wanted  _ to be whispered to. Wanted to be controlled and pushed and pulled like puppets.”

“You think people  _ want  _ that?! You think my family  _ wanted  _ our destruction?” 

Aspasia turned away from Kassandra and stared at the pyramid, “The Cult knows that people who are at their lowest, at the state where they are most vulnerable, make for easy targets. I think that I wanted people to want my manipulation.”

The tip of the spear of Leonidas rested in the small of Aspasia’s back as Kassandra’s hand began to stifle its shaking. Her resolve was as strong as the marble columns holding up the temple far above their heads. She was ready to kill this snake, the blade pressing into Aspasia ever so slightly to get her to talk. The other woman let out a soft gasp, almost unnoticed, and the misthios noticed that her wide brown eyes were beginning to water. From fear? From pain? From shame? Did it fucking matter?

“The Cult gave me a home when Athens wouldn’t. A way to get people to finally listen to me, when they refused simply because I came from a different land. The leader before me was one of the Pythias, the one who operated before Praxithea. She was not their puppet like the others. She was… she just was. Charismatic. Smart. Unafraid, even in the face of someone like King Leonidas. She was who I wanted to be, and in the desire to transform to her image, I let myself become a snake that would take over the Cult and poison it.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, the Cult was made of venom long before your lips drank from its cup.”

Kassandra knew her voice was harsh, her words struggling to escape through gritted teeth. A tear fell down Aspasia’s cheek as the spearpoint started to poke a hole into the back of her  _ peplos _ . 

“Why do you hesitate?”

“I… I don’t know.”

The last thing Kassandra wanted from her greatest enemy was a response of silence. The notion that neither of these two women, one of whom was masterfully trained in the art of debate, could muster up words to fill the chasm between them. Aspasia was ready for her execution, it seemed. Unarmed and unprotesting in her defeat. 

“When Phoibe was murdered… was that one planned?”

The sharp turn of the other woman’s head startled her, causing Kassandra to raise her spear in defense as the Cultist stared her down with tear-stained eyes.

“Of course not! I… I  _ used  _ Phoibe, yes,” she stammered. “I had her aid you on your little adventures, and in the same breath had her deliver letters to Cultists that hindered your progress. I would have taught her the ways of Kosmos in the hope that she would join the Eyes, perhaps, or even act as a Sage someday. But you are a fool to believe that I would want her dead to further any goal! Her death was a tragedy.”

“But other people’s sons and daughters were of no consequence? The throats of Spartan hoplites and Athenian polemarchos were fair game to be slit? Those that you could not welcome into your ranks because they were not as manipulatable as a small child?”

Aspasia looked angry. Angrier than she’d ever seen her. 

“Sokrates has taught you well. Your talent for debate has improved over these last few years.”

“I just lost my mother after being separated from her for most of my life. I lost my brother because I could not free him from the fog that Chrysis wrapped around his eyes like Hypnos himself. My life’s work will be for nothing, if that pyramid has indicated anything, and some version of this Cult or another will rise up... again and again. I am trying to help you give me a reason to spare your life,” Kassandra sighed. 

“I cannot.”

The bowl was only ten or so feet away. Kassandra gently pushed Aspasia towards it, the consort unsure of what would happen. She took the other woman’s hand, smooth and unweathered from harsh reality, and used her spear to make a cut across the palm. A small trickle of blood dripped into the bowl and the misthios held up her own hand with a similar shaped scar. 

“I never made the blood offerings. I was never...  _ formally  _ present at the meetings. I would hide in the shadows and watch,” Aspasia whispered, looking down at the bowl, caked in dried blood. “Even when Deimos killed Epiktetos to frame him as the traitor that murdered Elpenor, I remained the ever-elusive Ghost while the others cleaned up the mess.”

Kassandra gripped the bloody hand in her own, squeezing as tightly as she could, pressing her thumb into the cut across the other woman’s palm. More blood dripped down as a result of the pressure. Her battleworn hands were shaking again. Like the ebb and flow of the waves, they would calm, then begin to tremble once more in fear and anger. Aspasia’s wounded hand did not move at all, not even in response to the pain.

“If I hear anything about this Cult ever again, I will hunt you down.”

Aspasia’s eyes closed.

“If you so much as breathe in the direction of another king, general, or statesman, I will hear about it. You will not whisper in any ears, nor will you manipulate another soul ever again. You are done. I will give you your life, but your freedom was thrown to the wind by  _ your own hands _ , you understand?”

Kassandra’s words were quiet and controlling. A voice that could cry across the battlefield, now deadly soft and befitting of an assassin. The eyes of the courtesan opened, determined and understanding of the threat. Aspasia took in a deep breath through her nose and leaned forward a few inches, gently kissing an old scar on the mercenary’s cheek. 

“I don’t deserve this,” the Cultist whispered, her breath hot on Kassandra’s neck.

“You do not.”

“Thank you.”

Kassandra pulled away and smirked, “I’m not doing it for you. I’m doing it for myself. And for our friends, who put their lives on the line to help you the day we escaped Athens.”

With that, she separated herself from the grasp and strode up to the pyramid. The spear raised into the air like a bolt of lightning before crashing down. A moment of silence throughout the chamber, then the sounds of shattering and the strange crackling that always came from First Civilization technology permeated the air. The device broke into a dozen or so pieces, little metal bits that clattered on the floor. 

And The Eagle Bearer walked away. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a hasty chapter I wrote after fucking up the ending of Odyssey with my dumb choices. I don't know how it happened, because as my bff says, I've played this game 20000 times. But the idea of a good-hearted Kassandra losing her mother and brother and sparing Aspasia despite all she's discovered sounded really gay and interesting, so here we are.


	2. Beginning the Hunt

Sleeping in ruins had never been on Kassandra’s list of events she wished to transpire before she died. Then again, her death would be many, many years from now, if the pyramid was anything to go off of. A great number of wishes could be fulfilled in that time. Kassandra could very well walk to the edges of the Earth and back, should she desire (though some Athenian students had begun speculation that the Earth held a curvature… this was why she didn’t miss the symposium atmosphere at all). But sleeping in ruins had not been on the list, at any rate. 

The main room was filled with food, documents, weapons, and other miscellaneous supplies. Not much furniture. It was clear Natakas and Darius were always on the run, though this hideout seemed a little more lived in than most camps Kassandra stumbled upon. 

She enjoyed a quick piece of bread and some fruit, washing it down with a cup of wine before stretching and buckling her armor together. She preferred the blue Athenian pieces that she’d fashioned over the years, partially to throw people off, since many knew the Eagle Bearer to be a Spartan. And… partially… as an homage to her Athenian friends. After what had happened, if she had to settle down somewhere, she might look towards Attika instead of Lakonia. Salamis had a quaint air to it… she could do freelance work for Demosthenes or Alkibiades… 

It would be nice. For a while. 

Gods, she’d been at this for almost ten years. Ten years of destroying the hydra that was the Cult. Ten years of trying to repair her family and create a real life for herself. And what had she gotten? Phoibe murdered in the streets. Her mother stabbed and bleeding on the cliffs of Taygetos. Her brother, dead by her own spear. Brasidas―

“Are you going to brood all day, or are you ready to get to work?”

Hmph. Darius. She knew he had a bit of a temper when it came to productivity, but Kassandra didn’t appreciate being bossed around by the man who had tried to kill her less than a day ago. Though Natakas had intervened, she’d come very close to ending the old man’s life. She was glad, now, that she hadn’t. Just one more essence of carnage she could have wrought upon the world.

“I am ready to do your bidding, yes,” she snipped back at him.

“Natakas has gone out hunting if you wish to speak with him. I assume you saw my notes for the Order members we can start tracking down.”

“I noticed. I’ll start with this Phratagoune you wrote about. The Daughters of Artemis are a hunting group spread across most of northern Greece. If someone was training bears to act in hostility towards civilians, they would know where that person was and how to defeat them. Eyes of the Forest, one might call them.”

Darius nodded, taking a bite of his breakfast stew before continuing, “That sounds like a good plan. Don’t trust anyone.”

She had, of course, told this man and his son all about the Cult last night, about her plight to dismantle their iron grip upon the known world. Yet he continued to patronize her. A six foot-tall demigod with not one but two Isu artifacts at her disposal. Kassandra gave him a mustered, polite-as-could-be bow, and turned to trot down the hill and away from the ruins.

Pompous ass. 

He reminded her of Nikolaus, ever serious and unwilling to accept outside advice or criticism. Yet, there was a reason he’d made it this far evading an entire nation of antagonistic factions. She could not say the same, as she glanced down at the various scars adorning her arms and armor. 

“You’re back!”

She liked Natakas well enough. He reminded her of a puppy, with his wide eyes and goofy grin. His clothes were a little odd; beautiful colors but he took to wearing those strange _pantelóni_ the Persians seemed fond of. Must feel weird, but she figured to each their own. His shoes weren’t so much shoes as they were footwraps― given that they were going to be traipsing around the Makedonian wilderness for at least a month while they sorted all this out, Kassandra made a note to bring him a pair of good sandals from the Adrestia later. 

“Kassandra, what are you doing here?”

“I was going to ask you the same!”

Natakas gave her a warm smile, “I find doing something practical helps me get my thoughts together.”

“You like hunting?”  
  


Kassandra glanced at the sturdy bow in his hands and the quiver full of arrows, albeit of a weaker stock than she typically carried. _Hunting arrows are specifically lighter,_ she remembered, _and you use heavy, deadly war arrows because you are a kille―_

“I do. There’s deer here usually.”  
  


They agreed to hunt together, as Ikaros let out a screech above them that interrupted her investigation into his father. Natakas had his bow out, but let her lead, observing her technique with great interest. Not that it would matter, she’d seen his aim firsthand, when he’d shot a Spartan perfectly in the eye through his helmet from far too many paces away. He would make a good Daughter of Artemis, if they ever let a humble Persian man into their ranks. She liked the Makedonian forests. She enjoyed spending time with someone quiet and respectful, who wouldn’t scare off the elk with his clumsy footsteps like Barnabas would. It was… a different change of pace. 

When they did speak, between kills, it was of Darius. Of how he trained rigorously, despite his age. Of how he never ceased his work. It was clear to Kassandra that the burden on Natakas’s shoulders was heavy, and she could relate. 

They spotted a boar, causing Kassandra’s stomach to rumble. She had always loved boar as a child, ever since Nikolaus had taken her on a hunting trip in the Valley of Aristomenes. Hell, when she’d slain the Kalydonian Boar (or it’s descendent, or what have you) all those years ago in Phokis, the crew of the Adrestia had dined for almost a whole week on the best combinations of recipes that Gelon and Odessa could come up with. She would absolutely go for boar for tonight’s dinner. Natakas remained quiet and flat against the stone as she drew her bow and fired twice, both shots between the eyes. He let out a small whistle of approval as the pig stumbled into a nearby bush. 

Natakas, as it turned out, had grown up cooking for himself and his father. Back in the ruins, with Darius nowhere to be found, she watched as he brought out several pouches of Persian spices and a jar of Athenian honey. 

The smell. By Artemis, she could get used to that! If Natakas would cook for her and her crew everyday, Kassandra might just take up hunting as a profession instead. 

Natakas added another scrap of meat and a cup of wine to the small piece of wood he was using as a table on the ground. “It’s an old family recipe. My grandmother would be happy to hear!” he said. 

She finished her plate, warming herself by the fire, and looked out towards the darkening blue sky. 

“With all that’s happened in Makedonia, I guess you can’t stay here,” she sighed. She understood how it felt to live on the road. She could sympathise with these two. 

“I don’t know. We’ve always run. Ever since I was a child. My mother would find a way. No matter if we were by the side of the road or in a cave somewhere - she’d find a way to keep us warm. Safe. Like we had a home. I don’t know if I’ll ever feel that again.”

_Myrinne. Bleeding out on the stone flooring carved into Taygetos. Gently holding her as tight as she could, as though, somehow, Kassandra could keep her mother from floating down the River Styx._

Kassandra shook her head, “She’s gone now?”

“Years ago. Same with my siblings. The Order. The last time I saw them was the last time I saw my sister Neema alive. What… what about you? What about your past?”

_Alexios. Deimos. Taunting that Kassandra could never protect anyone as he killed her mother. As he killed Perikles. As he killed Brasidas. The spear, thrust into his throat and turning red. Everything turning red as his brown eyes (same color as hers) turned wide with fear. His body being kicked in anger repeatedly by Kassandra as her mother’s body grew cold._

“I never knew a true home, either,” she admitted in defeat. “I grew up fending for myself, hoping there’d be a place out there where I’d feel, as you said… warm. I haven’t found it.”

_A party in Athens, raising their goblets to the air. A symposium of free thinkers, poking and prodding at a gruff warrior for her opinion on some stupid theoretical scenario. Herodotus and Alkibiades and Socrates and Aristophanes... and though she didn’t quite understand what there was to consider homely about it, a flash of purple._

Kassandra glanced at Natakas’s wide green eyes, rapt in attention at her sob story. 

“And anyways, I don’t think it exists.”

Natakas shrugged and glanced back at the Aegean, with Skyros and Euboea sleeping in the distance, “We’re shaped by our pasts. Not defined by them.”

The silence that followed after prompted Kassandra to wonder if she had made a new friend. It felt… peaceful. She’d never really had a friend her age before. And certainly not one with as much in common with her life as Natakas had. It was… nice. 

  
  
  


“Are you ready to get to work?”

“I brought you enough food to last a month, old man,” the misthios grumbled, sitting on a pile of stone rubble. “I grew up on Kephallonia, sure, but that doesn’t mean I’m a lazy lowlife.”

Darius kept the ruins fairly dark throughout the hallways to prevent local gawkers from climbing up and investigating. When they were cooking, there would be a small fire in the hearth at the center of the main room, but otherwise only small torches here and there that gave off a rather pathetic light. When he wasn’t looking, Kassandra placed a small offering to Hestia to brighten the flames as much as possible; that they might study their documents and plans without hurting their eyes. 

“I heard back from the Daughters of Artemis this morning,” Kassandra prompted, when Darius refused to comment on her hunting. “A duo from Lamia is planning on meeting up with me at the base of Mount Pangeon within the next few days.”

“You’ll head to the fort at some point, yes? One of the Ancients regularly visits and we need to know why.”

“Aye, the Adrestia will sail to Amphipolis under the guise of mercenary work. The people of the city know I participated in the battle there a few months ago, I should be able to sell the act quite well. From Amphipolis, I’ll sneak into the fort during the night and check the nation's treasury. I might keep what funds I find, I do need to feed my crew after all.”

“I do hope you understand subtlety,” Darius sighed, not looking up from his letter.

Kassandra knew she shouldn’t have. She figured Darius wouldn’t go spilling her trade secrets and that using the powers of the spear around him was safe, especially considering their previous bout. She still shouldn’t have. But she did. 

She gently unclasped the spear from its sheathe and closed her eyes, running her thumb along the grip. Her entire body turned invisible, the only indication of her magic being a small hum. The demigod stood and walked over to where Darius was sitting, hunched over his documents, and used the tip of her spear to send the letters flying into his face. The action broke the magic, but it was worth it to see the old man jump, startled and standing, ready to fight. 

It was worth it to hear Natakas’s laughter ring through the decrepit halls from his post guarding the entrance of the ruins. It was worth it to see the anger on Darius’s face. 

“Even a mercenary with a reputation like mine knows subtlety,” she said with a grin. 

“Apparently.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone wondering, there won't be any Natakas/Kassandra in this, but I do like the idea of exploring a platonic friendship between them, because outside of the fuck-up that the DLC did, he's actually a fun guy. And, as I was writing this and mentioned in one of the paragraphs, I don't think Kassandra really has many friends her age that went through anything like she did. If only Ubisoft had said, "Hey, a man and a woman can be just friends! And that's fine!!" If only.


	3. Praise to Athena

_Dearest Aspasia,_

_I trust this finds you well. I’ve known you to adore your sense of secrecy, but I did pay the courier what I imagine is a delightful sum for him to deliver this to you. Perhaps I should have hired Kassandra, who cannot be killed and seems to find her way into every last crevice and canyon of the known world. If anyone could find you, it would be her. Last I heard you were leaving Naxos and headed through Attika, making your way towards Phokis. Seeking the wisdom of the Pythia, are we? I didn’t take_ **_you_ ** _for a believer in the supernatural, no matter cousin Perikles’ worship of Athena._

_Beloved Aspasia, Athens heals day by day. Perhaps, in our lifetime, we will see it restored to its former glory― even as I write this, I watch my mentor Socrates gather around a new oddity of students and question the ways of the universe without really providing his opinion at all. The eyes of his scholars then go wide with curiosity as they jump up and down to provide their answers and ask him questions. Do they even know what to truly say, I wonder, or is the nature of the debate to merely keep the tongue wiggling?_

_King_ _Pleistoanax, taking the Agiad mantle from that dreadful Pausanias, is considering entering peace talks with Athens. Though we serve to challenge the notion of Diarchy in our great city, I will admit he seems to calm the rage Archidamus brings to the table when it comes to this pestilence of a War. Indeed, I beg you to spare me from your criticism as I write that I would much rather serve Pleistoanax than the newest upstart to climb towards Kleon’s popularity. Nicias has been nothing but a thorn in my side for the past few years, yet the people see something in him that prompts their approval._

_This treaty won’t last. Mark my words, beloved Aspasia. This war will continue long after the two of us are dead._

_Another matter of which I wish to write; after much debate, the state has given me the house of Perikles. While I am honored to accept it, you know that I take residence in the Port of Piraeus. I will continue legal ownership of the house, but I would like to formally invite you back to Athens to return to your home. If anyone could aid in the restoration of our city, it would be Aspasia of Miletus._

_Praise to Athena!_

Her hands shook slightly as she continued to peruse the letter. Alkibiades had been a son of one of Perikles’ cousins, yet treated Aspasia as family despite her unofficial ostracism from the city. She had to let out a smile at the tone of his words. Though she had controlled Athens, and the Cult with it, she could never hope to control Alkibiades. 

And… the idea of returning to her home sounded too good to be true. She rested her chin in her palm, propped up by her elbow, and glanced out at the shoreline of Opous. Even from inside her inn room, she could taste the salt in the air. The last thing Aspasia wished was to live as a nomad, but if the people of Miletus did not accept her as their own (and a part of her knew they wouldn’t), then where could she live that would accept her as the great Aspasia? 

_You do not deserve the acclaim you acquired as Perikles’ consort,_ a voice in the back of her head whispered. _Why would the people you abandoned accept you, merely because of your ability to gossip with an Athenian accent?_

There were not many reasons to object to Alkibiades’ offer. However, there was the worry that any insertion back into Athenian politics would greatly anger Kassandra― and perhaps the young Spartan was not incorrect in her threats. What would hold Aspasia from slipping into her old ways and manipulating the entire world the moment she had even a modicum of influence? It was a struggle alone to restrain from writing back to Alkibiades in that deadly whisper she’d grown accustomed to as the Ghost. And she harbored equal restraint to not write Alkibiades in the motherly tone she’d scolded him with the first few years that he lived in their home. Eventually, she settled on the mustered words with an air of defeat;

_Beloved Alkibiades,_

_I have been tested, found guilty by an archon who once upon a time called me a friend. I wish to head back to Miletus for a while, as I regain a shred of dignity that was taken from me by this magistrate. Mind you, the judge made the correct call, as the evidence against me was great and of my own doing. I assure you, it is metaphorical trouble I speak of, not legal; though this trial came about by my own hobby of political manipulation. You know me well. I did harm, and I’m beginning to recognize that I_ **_intended_ ** _harm as well._

_Dearest cousin of Perikles, I miss my partner greatly. Sometimes, I wonder just how responsible for his death I truly was. Had I not strayed from my career as a consort… would he have lived? In my haste to throw parties and welcome the leaders of the world into my grip, had I squeezed too tightly with my greedy fingers? I worry that I influenced Kleon to nearly destroy Athens in his frenzy. And, through Kleon, did Perikles not succumb to his fate?_

_Oh, I wish I could tell you more. I feel as though I’ve hidden myself away from those I loved most, and in turn have destroyed all sense of family for myself. You are the last person in my life who I can trust and love. Perhaps someday, I will tell you all I know to be true. You’ve always been fond of gossip, I know, but the secrets I harbor would destroy me were I to let them slip from wine flavored lips. Then again, I know you adore your share of secrecy and manipulation. I’ve taught you well._

_Should you wish to continue correspondence, send your letter to Thasos City. I shall be in touch with a friend. Safety to you, and praise to Athena!_

  
  


  
  


Xenia accepted the clay cup filled with the driest wine that the innkeeper had available on such a short notice. The entire town was on edge in her presence, though none dared to approach her with malicious intent. So long as she did not, in turn, attack anyone with her hefty iron maul or her infamous pirate vessel. 

The famed statue of Theageneses seemed to almost stare right into her eyes, from where they sat in the Agora, with an offering bowl chock full of fruits and flowers at his feet. Pious fools, wasting precious resources on a statue of some supposed son of a hero. Sure, she enjoyed the treasures and trinkets of legend, but Xenia had never cared for those foolish enough to think the Gods would solve their problems with a simple “please and thank you”. One of the things she’d liked about Kassandra was that the young captain agreed with her on that front.

Speaking of.

“It’s done, then?”

Her treasured friend, Aspasia, whom she had sailed with from Miletus almost two decades prior, gazed not at the famous bronze statue in the Agora, but out towards the sea. The mountains bordering Makedonia cast a shadow over Greece, though some might call it, again, a sign from the Gods. All Xenia saw was old war history from the time of her parents, and a reason to stick to the water as one’s main transport. 

“It’s done. The entire Cult has been killed off. All by her hand, I might add.”

Xenia let out a snort, “I knew she was up to the task the moment I met her. If anyone could do it, it’d be a half-starved rascal with a broken spear and a mangy bird trailing above her. To say nothing of the state of that ship she uses. But, I will begrudgingly admit, she’s done some fine work on it over the past few years.”

“Enough to destroy the aquatic influence the Cult had over the Aegean, yes.”

“You sound angered, as though you haven’t expressed to me that you wished for her to wipe out your conspirators.”

Aspasia… she bore more melancholy than Xenia had ever seen her carry, surpassing the day at sea when she tearfully admitted she’d be a slave to some statesman or general in Attika. Sure, the official word was hetaera, but Xenia knew. She knew the truth that Aspasia kept within her chest, that she had no true freedom so long as a man kept her as a prize. Not a lowly street _pornai_ , but… well, the _pornai_ had far more freedom, did they not? Freedom to walk whatever street and, should the need arise, travel to a new port or city for differing clientele. A hetaera’s work was wrapped in social rules and responsibility. Practically a wife without first providing true love.

Xenia had never really cared for love, but she wished it upon Aspasia all the same. 

“I wished for politics that… oh, Xenia. I’ve made a malakas out of myself,” the other woman sighed, hiding her head in her hands. 

“Well, we’re all allowed a fuck up every now and then.”

“Not like this. This is a Sophoclean tragedy.”

Xenia took a sip of wine and let the silence sit for but a moment, before saying, “I don’t know who that is.”

She always hated it when Aspasia cried. _If anyone could rival the beauty of Aphrodite, it would be her_ , Xenia thought. _And one such as Aphrodite should never be forced to a state of such sorrow._

“I thought Kassandra would kill me. She seemed poised to strike, spear resting on my spine. But she didn’t. I… I honestly don’t know why. I’ve taken _everything_ from her.”

“Hmm.”

Myrinne was dead. The news had both shocked and greatly saddened Xenia. She’d loved the Spartan woman, but had always known the Cult would stop at nothing to end her. Myrinne had known it too― somehow that made it worse, as though she were cursed into a doe that forever fled the arrows of Artemis. 

Aspasia picked at her plate of apples, bread, and cheese. The consort finally let out a laugh, “What life can I possibly lead, knowing that I must look over my shoulder for her at every breath? No trade of mine will allow me peace, if her threats are to be believed.”

“I would believe them.”

“Perhaps it would have been better if she had killed me.”

“Perhaps.”

Aspasia gave Xenia a harsh stare before smiling, “You are a lousy friend.”

“But I am your friend.”

“Indeed. I need a plan. But I am afraid of plans. How can I not be? The very lifestyle of the cult, dare I agree with a Spartan misthios, brought me to ruin in the first place. The obsession with control and power, the hunt for bloodlines and artifacts. Even running the philosophers in circles with my dialogue was an act for the Cults eyes to record.”

“Tell me something.”

“Anything.”

“I recall a letter, wherein you mentioned an Hermippos, a playwright who contrasted Perikles whenever he could, seeking to have you ostracized. Yet, when I spoke with Kassandra, in confidence, she recounted how she murdered none other than Hermippos after discovering him to be a Cultist.”

“He was.”

Aspasia’s eyes had trailed to her bowl of unappetizing gruel, to the table, to the pirate’s armor, to her own new red chiton, replacing the extravagant peplos anyone could recognize her in. Anything to avoid Xenia’s intense, battleworn stare. 

“I did not directly control the actions of Hermippos, but I was aware of their intent from within the Cult. It was to fuel the war. I… the Sage named Nyx ordered the actions taken by her disciples. I only ever encouraged chaos. I only ever made them believe I was controlling them, that I would promise them power beyond their wildest dreams?”

“Did you?”

“Control them? No. Never. Not for a single day in all of a dozen years. There was a reason I was called the Ghost. I was a thing to be feared, but bearing little physical dominion.”

Xenia kept quiet. She knew Aspasia. Knew when she lied by the way she would hold her shoulders and smile. This was… different. She sat slumped in her chair, ignoring the posture and poise chipped into her by them that trained hetaera. Aspasia had lied to Xenia before, though the outcomes were not malicious enough for the pirate to warrant revenge of any sort. Truth was a currency in the language of leaders, the pirate knew, and Aspasia was in no such debt to her. Yet the Miletian paid Xenia in the currency of truth at this very moment. 

“They could be nudged in directions, but every single one of them had their own agency. Except perhaps Lagos. Pausanias held his family at the end of a knife for the taste of precious Arkadian grain. The rest of them fought among each other in the name of destroying all they could. All for a God.”

“Is it completely gone? All of it?”

Aspasia finally took a small piece of bread and chewed on it, and Xenia passed her the cup of strong wine she’d been neglecting. 

“No. There are people like me all over the world. Any country you’ve heard of in your travels, I guarantee there are organizations operating like the Cult, to be found in the shadows and on the thrones. Likewise… any shore you land upon… there are rogues like Kassandra. Knives out, “protecting the freedoms of the people”, or so they say. It is an eternal struggle, one without end. And _that_ is where the chaos is found.”

“I’ll have to travel more often. I’d love to meet more women like Kassandra.”

Another smile, a smirk more than anything. Xenia knew that Aspasia was exhausted of options, of emotion, of the very will to live. The pirate personally had little care as to who ran the world― Cult or no. Neither the common people nor the tyrants could run governments for very long without some precious coin or gems to raise their farms and throw their festivals. Anyone could become beset by a league of pirates. Anyone.

“Where do you go from here?” 

“I’ve paid for a ship to Lesbos― do not sink it, I know that look. From Mytelene, I will surely find passage to Miletus. That is, if the citizens of Lesbos do not realize I may have allowed Kleon to nearly slaughter them all.”

A handful of nearby merchants gawked at the scandalous behavior of the seven foot tall warrior laughing her ass off, before she sent them on their way with a glare. 

“The ship will be making a stop in Makedonia to pick up some stuffy noble or statesman; as well as his wife, his two dozen servants, and his staff, I’m sure. The ship will likely be in Amphipolis for a week, knowing the bureaucracy of it all.”

“I would see you there myself, were my boat not threatened by what lurks in those waters.”

“Sharks?” Aspasia asked with a grin.

“Persians.”

“Persians?”

“Persians,” Xenia affirmed. “We’ve been getting reports from our Boeotian gang of increased activity from their borders― and collusion with Sparta, no less. It would seem the tides of the War are going to greatly change. Perhaps you are leaving the mother country at a good time.”

“If there are Persians here, in Greece… then…”

Aspasia stood, walking over to Xenia and pulling her to her feet with a quick tug (and a grumble from the pirate). 

“I cannot waste time. I need to know the activities of these Persians.”

“Pardon my confusion, dearest Aspasia, but did you not regale me with a tale of how one mighty misthios would end your life should you ever dare to repeat the actions of your entire past? I know that glint in your eye. For once, listen to me when I say… this won’t end well.”

“You are mistaken. I need to warn Kassandra, not oppose her. I believe those Persians are hunting her.”

“Ah. Off you go then. This definitely won’t end like a ‘Sophoclean tragedy’.”

“You don’t know who Sophocles is.”

Xenia slapped a handful of coins on the table and offered the Miletian her hand, “I wanted to impress you. Let’s prepare you for a departure, then.”

  
  
  


  
  
  


_Dearest Alkibiades,_

_No matter what you hear about me, I need you to spread rumors that I am still of popularity in Athens and in power. Tell them I am in employment as consort to some general or another. Make up a name. Procles. Pythodorus. Lysicles_ _._ _I beg this favor of you, just this once. I need word of my power to precede me in Makedonia, and I know that, if anyone can create gossip, you can. Yes, you may recruit Aristophanes, I know how much you like him._ _You know not to ask questions, but I can give you a single answer; Kassandra’s life depends on it. With that, I trust you will enjoy your mission. I am aware that you prefer to have the legendary misthios in your debt._

_Speaking of debts... use the name Lysicles. He won’t mind, he owes me._

_Praise to Athena_


	4. Eyes of the Forest

It was mid-afternoon when she finally set out from Rock Arch, saddling up Phobos and adding his bridle while Darius watched from the comfortable shade of the hideout. Indeed, the heat was intense, even as far north as Makedonia. She was glad to be far from the dusty oblivion that was Crete. The only reason she’d even consider going back to Messara or Pephka would be to pick up Ardos to add him as a crewmate. What could she say? She’d grown fond of the kid. He reminded her far too much of Phoibe. 

Fortunately for Phobos, the terrain of Makedonia was far more acceptable for his hooves than the rocky terrain of Crete. Some stone cliff sides here and there, sure, but for the most parts the forests were lush with bountiful rolling grass that absorbed his thundering gallop.

“Easy there, I don’t want to tire you out so soon. This Phratagoune is hidden far into the mountains. We have at least a day of travel, if not more,” she muttered.

Kassandra’s ramblings were directed towards herself, but the notion that her loyal companions might receive her musings always did keep her from feeling so lonely. And Gods knew, after a decade of roaming the entire country, Kassandra was, indeed, a woman familiar with solitude. 

Though slower, it was safer to keep Phobos at a trot and save his energy. The woods were thick with bears, wolves, and lynx. If she needed a quick escape, it would do well for her horse to not be so exhausted that he might stumble and trip. And, it allowed her to better survey the landscape that she would be spending quite some time at, if Darius’s warnings were to be believed. 

Her best armor had been left on the Adrestia, in the safe hands of Barnabas. Instead, she’d chosen to wear gray robes that could easily mistake her for a pilgrim or a priest. A hood covered her head, preventing the sun from blinding her eyes. It would be dangerous, fighting without armor. A part of her knew, though, that the Staff would keep her safe. 

Kassandra finally shook herself from her thoughts;

“I see the valley where she hides, Ikaros!”

A shriek from the skies answered her observation. She held out her arm and the bird landed perfectly on her glove, trusting that his weight would be balanced with care and respect. Phobos’s ears flickered, but after all these years he had learned that the raptor meant him no harm. Kassandra took a moment to allow her horse to catch his breath while she studied the valley, noting the small Spartan tent along the road and the herd of elk patiently watching her from a distance, unsure if they ought to flee. 

“Come on, then, we should do this while light hangs in the sky.”

They galloped past a lake, where she noted a bear gently washing his fur. Kassandra gave it a wide berth, not wishing for a fight with a beast the size of a chariot. She could only imagine the population of predators would grow to an unnatural amount the closer she came to Phratagoune. She didn’t want to put Phobos in danger. 

Eventually, Kassandra found an open field to the east of where Darius had speculated the Ancient’s camp would be. She dismounted and pulled Phobo’s bridle off, so that he wouldn’t tangle himself, and let him graze. Worst case scenario, someone would assume it was a lost horse and take it to Potidaia. Well, second worst case. She supposed a pack of wolves might give Phobos a run for his drachmae, but supposedly most of the Huntsman’s wolf packs were closer to Amphipoli―

“You are standing out in the open? You make for a poor hunter!”

True, the voice startled Kassandra, but at least she didn’t actually thrust her spear into the bush as Kephalos had. Instead, she drew her bow and backed up, waiting for this newcomer to show themself.

Two bodies left the brush, twenty feet apart from each other. Though adorned in simple brown himations that were then kept in place with leather strappings, the women were easily attributed to their faction by the faded (but detailed) warpaint sprawling across their limbs and faces. Daughters of Artemis. Formidable hunters, and equally formidable foes. 

“We were expecting you yesterday.”

“My apologies. I am new to the terrain.”

Both women were young, barely able to be considered adults. Their eyes were wide as they analyzed this city-dweller, and it was obvious one of them held back a quip. They did not seem as well armed as Kassandra was hoping. If these were the reinforcements she was hoping for, perhaps she would be better off traveling al―

“Beast Slayer. I do hope you brought your best arrows.”

She'd always enjoyed that deeper, sultry voice of the huntress; carrying with it an air of mysticism. A shoulder brushed against her own with a familiar fondness, and Kassandra relaxed with a smirk. Of course. 

Daphnae was not wearing her usual pale tunic, but rather a fine set of handcrafted leathers, an orange chiton and hood, with the pelt of a wolf resting on the shoulders. She gave the misthios a respectful bow and made a signal with her hands to the others. The younger hunters nodded and disappeared back into the brush.

“I didn’t think you would ever leave your temple. Does someone babysit the shrine for you?”

“As though I miss the opportunity to fight alongside one as legendary as you?”

Kassandra laughed and gave Daphnae a firm handshake. For all the people whom she had met and befriended, she did appreciate the wise, untamed priestess the most. Daphnae was older than Kassandra by at least a decade, crows feet hidden beneath the makeup and war paint she currently adorned herself with. Yet, for her age, she was still incredibly fit and muscular, clearly prepared to climb the cliffs and trees of this northern forest. 

“Come then, my friend. And leave the whelps behind. We will work best as a quiet, skillful duo.”

“Hmm… they won’t want to hear that. I’ll have them thin out the bears in the area,” Daphnae chuckled. “Then, you will regale me with your tales over a warm fire and with a feast of a dozen elk.”

It did not take them long to find the camp, and they quickly hid themselves in the nearby brush as best they could. Daphnae’s russet armor was better suited for this, but Kassandra had an entire life’s worth of experience that allowed her use of the shadows, culminating in the both of them practically disappearing among the scenery. 

Phratagoune chose a cave as her camp. It reminded Kassandra of Zoisme, one of the first Cultists she’d hunted, and she shuddered to think of what would happen if frenzied zealots continued to make a habit of training carnivores for the sake of terrorizing the local populace.

“I can see two bears so far.”

“Let me look myself.”

By my eyes, she thought, closing her own. Far above her, Ikaros’s pupils glowed a golden for half of a second before Kassandra could see through his perspective. She could never really explain it, explain how it worked and where the connection had come from― save that Ikaros had been sent by Pythagoras― but she did not disapprove of the boon, and she never would. His vision far surpassed that of an ordinary human, and within a matter of moments, she counted one, two, three, four bears protectively roaming around the camp. And, of course, the Ancient.

“Four.”

“Well… shit.”

“Best thing to do is fire from a distance. We take her out, the bears will panic. They will scatter, and we can split up as we hunt them down.”

“Must we? Perhaps we could tame them and bring them back to Lamia?”

“Daphnae, these have been conditioned to become bloodthirsty killers without reason. Neither the wild, nor man should harbor them. It’s a mercy to end them.”

Her friend gave her a light scoff, but recognized the wisdom in the words regardless. A single black, extraordinarily sharp arrow was knocked to the string of Daphnae’s bow, and she waited for Kassandra to give her the signal. 

“Wait.”

“For what?”

“We’re not as close as we should be. Even if we are lucky, and we both hit her in the head from this distance… it won’t be enough..”

Daphnae bit her lip, “We risk being close enough for those bears to tear into us, as is.”

“Nightfall,” the Spartan said, her voice as quiet as possible.

“Oh, you fucking  _ malakas _ .”

“We’d be able to sneak up better.”

Kassandra turned to see her golden-eyed companion giving her the angriest glare she’d ever seen. Well, perhaps not as angry as when the misthios had fallen off the roof of the temple the day they’d met, but annoyed all the same.

“What about circling around? Attacking from behind?”

“It could work. We risk running into any traps she may have set up.”

“Oh, now you tell me about traps,” Daphnae hissed. 

“Phratagoune’s having a meal, she’s not alert. Now would be our shot to move.”

“Fine! Fine!  _ Malakas  _ misthios! Better than waiting for night.”

The camp itself was wedged at the border of the foothills, a dense forest, and rolling fields that led back down to the lake. Kassandra and Daphnae gently snuck their way into the trees, where the dark shadows of the canopy hid them with the favored kiss of Erebus himself. Daphnae, as loud and commanding as she could be, was a leopard when it came to hunting. Or, assassinating, as it were. 

They found another patch of brush, now directly above the cave. Phratagoune was still sitting on the rocky cliff, adoringly giving her bears commands. Kassandra almost wondered if the Ancient was insane and merely rambling, but refused to take the situation anything but seriously. 

“We’re not going to get a good angle in the brush back here,” Daphnae said. 

Her voice was less of a whisper and more a mere breath, exhaled with a touch of anxious caution. Daphnae was being so quiet, in fact, that her face was practically resting on Kassandra’s shoulder, that the misthios could hear her. Once again, arrows were knocked to strings. 

“I’m going to quickly go in for a headshot. You need to make sure the bears don’t charge me, and we’ll fall back to higher ground if needed,” Kassandra murmured in response.

Daphnae did not say anything, but she did not need to. The way her cheeks shifted into a smirk and her golden eyes twinkled told Kassandra that she was ready, thrilled even, for the hunt. Ikaros soared down towards the lake from their position, providing something for their prey to glance at.

_ Phratagoune was enjoying a delightful wine from the island of Kos when she saw the bird. Nothing out of the ordinary― plenty of eagles lived in these mountains, some scavengers and others proper hunters. Were that the thing were injured, she would heal it and teach it how to hunt people. How to not only deliver the message of the Order upon those who did not obey, but to spread fear through the rightfully powerful force that was nature. Funny, training an eagle… she would be like that woman that Pactyas had mentioned. W― _

The arrow hit her perfectly in the back of the head. Kassandra could feel her spear glowing golden, as she’d tapped into its power for a shot that would certainly end the woman’s life in one fell stroke. 

A nearby bear rose its head in response, sniffing the air and unsure of what to do upon the death of its human ally. Another arrow flew out from the bushes, into its eye, and it stumbled. Then another arrow. 

One by one, each of the bears were disposed of. Respectful, clean kills. Kassandra couldn’t help but be pleased with herself; she fucking hated fighting bears.

While Daphnae began working on the pelts (letting out a long, loud whistle that echoed down the valley to signal her followers), Kassandra took an extra moment to make sure the Order member was dead. She did this with every Cultist kill; an extra stab in the heart just to make sure. One mustn’t take chances.

“That was too many bears,” Daphnae muttered, leaping down from the rocks above the cave and peering inside.

Kassandra gently slipped the parchment she’d found tucked in one of Phratagoune’s satchels. It’d become a habit to recover any and all documents she could from these conspirators. One clue or another would always lead to the next  _ malakas _ . But she would not drag Daphnae into this fight any further than she had. Having the aid of the Daughters of Artemis meant that the Persians would catch on to the Eagle Bearer’s involvement as quickly. That did not mean she wished to put the faction in danger. 

She gestured towards the slain predators;

“You’re welcome to what you can carry.”

“Oh, I am taking all of this back to Lamia.”

“Is that so?”

Daphnae gave her a coy grin. Kassandra had the feeling that, though it had not been said aloud, there were far more hunters in the woods than she’d been led to believe. 

  
  


  
  


“You needed not escort me to Amphipolis.”

“I was worried you would get lost without me!”

Though her friend was behind her, Kassandra could still feel a smile being shown. They were having fun... such a foreign concept for the misthios, at this point. Reminded her of the antics Phoibe and Markos would get up to. Daphnae’s horse was spurred enough that it might trot parallel to Phobos, and the misthios caught another glimpse of the mount. Stolen. Definitely stolen.

“You’re a bad priestess.”

“Oh?”

“That’s a Spartan branding on its left flank, beneath the blanket you so casually threw atop its back.” 

“And?”

“You’re not Spartan, Daphnae.”

“What the  _ Strategos  _ doesn’t know won’t hurt him. He shouldn’t have set a camp up so close to one of our most sacred sites.” 

“You mean the ruined temple near Myson Cave?”

“Yes. How do you know of it?”

The misthios shot a grin right back at her friend, “May have robbed it.”

“Beast Slayer!”

“I didn’t kill anyone!”

But Daphnae had seemingly dropped the conversation, and slowed her horse to a mere walk. Kassandra followed suit, tracking the direction of the priestess’ gaze out towards the water. A ship, larger than any typical merchant craft she’d seen, was docked at the harbor. Beautiful turquoise sails were neatly rolled up and tied to prevent damage. A uniformed crew, not donning any armor but wearing matching tunics to indicate their station, carried cargo back and forth as they brought goods to and from the ship for trade. A captain spoke with a group of civilians, clearly passengers awaiting transport.

Strange, to see a vessel that size this far north. Odder still, to see something of such splendor against the decrepit, unfinished docks of Amphipolis. 

“Is that Persian?” the misthios quietly asked.

Though her parents had given her a decent enough education, with methods of recognizing the emblems of various nations and empires, she could never be certain. 

“No. I’ve seen that ship many times. Known as  _ Antochí tou Achilléa _ ,  quite often it passes by Chois and docks at Lesbos. Typically, it does not come this far west, though on occasion I’ve seen it head towards Athens. It does voyage regularly to Persia, yes, but there’s nothing military about it.” 

“That does not mean… my enemies are probably aboard. Whether they bring their own daggers, or plan to purchase them from the Spartans.”

From her horse, Daphnae held out her hand. Kassandra grabbed it and felt dexterous, rough fingers give her glove a reassuring squeeze. Almost in unison, the two of them drew up their hoods and moved the horses into the inconspicuous shade of the forest bordering Amphipolis.

“This is where I leave you.”

“Thank you for your help, Daphnae. If any more like her begin to make their way south, if you hear of any unusual activity… write to me. Let me know of conflicts between the Daughters and anyone…  _ new _ . Strange. Viscous. I hate the notion that the cycle is going to repeat itself, but I want you and your family to stay safe.”

“Eyes of the Forest, as you so affectionately call us. Yes, and I will let you know what I can find out about the  _ Antochí tou Achilléa _ from my sisters outside Mytilene. And… Kassandra?”

Brown eyes met golden. 

“Don’t feel ashamed if you do not complete the Goddess’s Hunt. I know you’ve been through a lot. This… this business far surpasses a trial intended for the young, wide-eyed adventurer you used to be. I’d rather you focus on keeping yourself safe, keeping good innocent people safe, hmm?”

“Fairwell, Daphnae.”

“Fairwell, Beast Slayer.”

In true fashion, the priestess spurred her horse on in a thundering gallop back down the dusty road they’d come from― startling a nearby patrol of Spartans. Kassandra grinned and gently walked Phobos to a nearby stable, where, for a small fee, he could be taken care of for a few nights. 

The city of Amphipolis, while small, was grand in its own way. The beginnings of an empire, indeed. Beautiful marble steps led up towards the temple to Asklepios, guarded by lion statues on either side of the thoroughfare. Politicians and diplomats argued back and forth in front of freshwater marble basins, their reflections rippling against the glimmering surface. It was obvious that she stood out like a sore thumb, with her longbow, spear, and sword. She gave a tilt of her head, indicating to Ikaros that he ought to watch from the nearby trees instead of flying around. It would do well to act inconspicuous. 

A glance out towards the beach was all she needed to feel her own heart sink. Beloved Brasidas. If only she’d been better, acted faster, fight with the same intensity as her cursed brother. Perhaps she could have saved her friend. 

“I will see you again, one day, and gladly spar with you in the fields of Elysium. Or perhaps, as I do now, I shall watch from a distance as you spend eternity in a glorious battleground among heroes of old. But, even if I could never join you, I know you will walk those blessed golden fields,” Kassandra whispered. 

It was the same prayer her mother had once whispered to Lionedas, when he’d been rightfully buried in Sparta. 

She closed her eyes.

Let the sun gently warm her face. 

A moment.

The warning cry came from Ikaros in the trees. Not enough to startle every citizen in the city, but loud enough that it got her attention. He spotted something. Kassandra looked around, her hand lightly hovering over her blade, before her weary, experienced eyes settled on a familiar face. What struck her as odd was that this face did not match her clothes, and certainly not her hair. Gone was the extravagant peplos and engraved golden jewelry, gone was the elaborate hairstyle. Instead, the Ghost of Kosmos only wore a gray tunic and a black cape, her hair braided back in a simple style― perfectly blending in with the poorer citizens of Amphipolis. 

“ _ Malaka _ . You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How many ships can I turn into fix-it platonic friendships before you guys chase me down with a stick? 
> 
> That's probably the only chapter with Daphnae, I just wanted more of a bff dynamic for them in this fic, but I like the idea of the Daughters of Artemis being a neutral faction that keeps an eye on the forests for Kassandra. Because they like her. Who wouldn't? And, in this fic, Kassandra hasn't finished the Goddess's Hunt because, let's face it, that poor girl has a busy schedule. 
> 
> Leave comments!
> 
> UPDATE (7/29/2020): A lot of files on my computer had to be deleted as I was fighting a glitch that kept occurring, including my Odyssey saves. Don't worry, fic's not going anywhere! I just need to play through the game again so that I can resume my adventures in Makedonia BECAUSE I use a play/write/play/write model when I do video game fic. Shouldn't take too long, the DLC unlocks after you find Myrinne. But, I will still be writing as though Kass has lost her family and has spared Aspasia.


	5. Within One's Nature

The chatter on the streets of Amphipolis died quickly, or rather it continued at it’s normal volume but Kassandra could not hear it. Her eyes focused on Aspasia’s, on the notion that she was here, at the very end of the country― it took every moment from the years of training Nikolaus had given her to restrain herself from attacking. _Restrain and wait for them to make the move, then charge ruthlessly while they are reeling from their own blow._

But Aspasia did not attack her. The soldier within Kassandra hesitated. Why were they not fighting?

The expression on the Cultist’s face became one of relief. Relief? Why? Why not fear or anger or that strange expression Kassandra had first spotted her with at the symposium all those years ago― the narrowed eyes and smirk of a lioness stalking her prey.

It took her a moment to realize that Aspasia was suddenly a mere foot away from her, and speaking in a quiet voice;

“We shouldn’t be out in the open. They are sure to be listening in from every corner and alleyway.”

“They?”

Aspasia’s eyes widened and she tilted her head in the direction of a pair of Spartan soldiers, lazily keeping an eye on them. Then, the Miletian turned and began walking towards the main gates of Amphipolis. Her pace was not rushed but there was something about her body language that pleadingly beckoned Kassandra to join her. 

_Malaka. What do I have to fucking lose?_

Kassandra meandered a little ways behind, inspecting Phobos at the stables as Ikaros kept an eye on Aspasia. From his keen vision, as far as she could tell, Aspasia was not armed. Strange. Most people of wealth would at least carry a dagger on them. It was also telling that Aspasia was dressed to deceive those around her to her true identity, almost sporting a similar look to Darius. 

“May I buy an apple off of you for my horse? I won’t see him again for a while and they calm him down,” she asked, with a smile.

The nearby stablehand, a young girl about six or seven, gladly took the drachmae coin from Kassandra’s fingers and disappeared inside a tack room. It took about thirty seconds, an “oof!”, and the sound of a barrel tipping over… but the little kid reappeared with two slightly bruised apples. Well… one was an apple, and the other was a pomegranate. Kassandra gave her a bemused smile and fed Phobos the more appropriate fruit.

She cautiously tossed the pomegranate in her hand as she made her way to the forest edge where Aspasia paced back and forth, nerves awry. Like a beast trapped in a cage. From here, they could see both the harbor, Thasos in the distance, and the military fort just down the road. Kassandra plopped herself in the grass, and began cutting fruit slices with her spear as she stared at the view. 

“Are you trying to intimidate me?” Aspasia asked. 

Her tone wasn’t condescending, but tired. Sad. It prompted the exact same emotions in Kassandra, who shifted her gaze back down to the pomegranate to prevent herself from cutting her fingers. 

“I don’t trust you.”

“I know.”

“Who is this ‘they’ you speak of?”

Kassandra offered Aspasia a slice, and the other woman gingerly took the piece of fruit, keeping an uncomfortable eye contact. 

“It’s not poisoned,” the misthios muttered, nibbling on the small seeds of her own slice.

“I can only assume you’re here to fight the Order of the Ancients?”

Kassandra shrugged. Why would she tell Aspasia her plan? Was the Ghost of Kosmos here to ask her to stop? The two organizations seemed distantly linked but not affiliated. Same methods. Similar ideology. The exact same goal of either eradicating or using Kassandra, if Darius was to be believed. Was Aspasia here to warn her?

“They are much more powerful than we are. Were. Much more powerful than we _were_ . They… we thought _we_ controlled Greece but you cannot walk five feet through the Persian empire without catching their scent. I grew up in it, in Miletus. I heard the whispers, the rumors. I feared it as much as anyone else.”

“Until you didn’t? Until you joined them?”

Aspasia shook her head, her lips pursed and her brow furrowed. Kassandra looked down and realized she was just picking seeds from her slice of pomegranate and letting them fall into the grass. Just so she’d have something to do with her hands. A nervous tic.

“No, I never would have. I fear them still. If they’re here, and it’s not another invasion of the Empire, it means that the Ancients are directly involved. That’s why I came here. To warn you, Kassandra.”

“Warn me? You haven’t told me anything I don’t already know. By Zues, I’ve already sent one to the underworld, I’m more than capable of sending the rest.”

“You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into,” Aspasia said, a slight hiss to her words. “If you invoke their wrath, they will hunt you down far longer than we ever could. I cant… I can’t throw them off your scent this time.”

“This time? As though you ever truly did such a thing for me before? I’ve seen the letters, Aspasia. Don’t… don’t try this again.”

The consort anxiously glanced around and took a deep breath. Kassandra found herself nibbling on another pomegranate slice. The last thing she wanted to do was get into another spat, especially if there was some truth to Aspasia’s words… and the Persians _were_ listening in. She figured no, they were too far beyond the gates, and even if the Huntsman had more agents in the woods, not many would pick up on the quiet debate between the two enemies. 

“The Cult was brutal, Kassandra, but not many speak out against the Order of Ancients and are heard from again.” 

“I am not those people. I am cursed something awful, and while they may have an entire Empire of soldiers, they will not end my life today. Nor tomorrow. It will be a long time before I die, I promise you.”  
  


“Death isn’t the worst thing to happen to a person,” Aspasia sighed.

“You would know. I’ve seen y― _your_ Cult take a human and turn him into a punishment only Hades would bravely contain in Tartarus.” 

The older woman finally stopped dead in her tracks and glared at Kassandra for half a second before throwing her uneaten chunk of fruit square at the misthios’s forehead. The younger woman couldn’t even catch it, as unprepared as she was. Blinking in surprise, Kassandra quickly realized there was suddenly an accusing finger being pointed in her face.

“I would know, Kassandra. Your insults aren’t going to deter me any further! Let me help you. I know the politics of these sorts of people, even if indirectly. I can… I can help keep you safe.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. You, what, you came all this way to ‘keep me safe’? You, who destroyed my family and ruined my life?”

“My ship was passing through Amphipolis on the way to Lesbos, and then Miletus. I… there were likely passengers aboard who were members of the Order. Let me go back to the ship and speak with the captain. I can find out more, perhaps even help you hunt them before they get to you.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” Aspasia said. “I... I can’t give you an answer as to why I’m here. I…”

A farmer and his wife trotted past on horseback, leaving a cloud of dust in the road. An eagle gently caught the warmest winds to carry his wings further as he circled over the nearby grain fields for scurrying mice to catch. Ants began investigating a fallen pomegranate slice in the grass, near the tense leg of a human, keeping herself on the defense. At the beach in the distance, two little boys began picking up pieces of driftwood to play pretend; the quick clashing of sticks deftly reenacting the Battle of Amphipolis. 

The Spartan warrior stood, practically towering over Aspasia. She finally put her spear back in its sheath but kept a hand on her hip, a mere inch from her father’s sword. 

“Look, I don’t want you here. You’re only going to cause more trouble, and you know it,” Kassandra sighed. “Best case scenario for you, they don’t realize the Cult is done for. And that’s very unlikely. I don’t think they’re going to believe a word you sa―”

“Can I have the rest of your pomegranate?”

Aspasia’s eyes were a light brown, but they almost had a flash of steel to them. As though, even unarmed, she could prove to be just as much of a warrior. In her own way. 

“Wh-what? I… uh… sure. Here.”

Aspasia’s expression had changed completely, as though she’d snapped her fingers and cast a spell. She gently plucked the remainder of the fruit out of Kassandra’s hands. Then walked away. Well, not _away_ away, but rather towards a duo of soldiers guarding the bridge leading towards Amphipolis. Kassandra inched closer but chose to sit on the grassy hillside of the forest and watch out of the corner of her eye, pretending to mind her own business. 

Flirtatious touches and laughter. The guards, not letting their guard down as they were on duty, but smiling and engaging in conversation with her. An Athenian charming Spartans. Aspasia chatted with them for a few minutes, offering her pomegranate for them to split, taking a seed from the guard’s fingers and popping it into her own mouth with a flirty grin. One of the guards was backed up against a wooden post with his arms crossed but not closed off or antagonistic; the other casually leaning on his spear as he listened to Aspasia talk with rapt attention. 

From a distance, she could read Aspasia’s lips saying “thank you” and watched as one of the soldiers took her enemy’s hand and gently kissed it goodbye. It was sweet to watch, almost a scene from a painted amphora. 

Aspasia turned and walked down the dusty road, a quick glimpse up into the forest but not directly _at_ Kassandra, as though she were beginning the long trek towards Potidaia. 

She brushed a stray red seed off of her breastplate and stood, heading down the dusty road towards the lone hooded figure in the distance. From here, it could have been anyone, and Kassandra had a feeling that Aspasia wanted to be found this time. Gods knew that woman could have hidden in the shadows of Amphipolis and merely watched, as Kassandra was certain the Order were doing. A bit of time passed before Kassandra caught up (intentionally so). The two women said nothing as they walked side by side.

Eventually, the silence irked the misthios to the point of interruption;

“What were you doing with those guards?”

Aspasia glanced at the Rhodope Mountains in the distance as they found a fallen log to sit at. She pulled out a small scroll, clearly official orders of some kind. 

“The things you can take when eyes are glazed.”

“You pickpocketed this?” Kassandra asked in disbelief. 

“Who do you think taught Phoibe?”

“I did! In Sami! We broke one of Duris’ pots together! It was an educational experience!”

Aspasia rolled her eyes. Playfully. It was so foreign and ludicrous to Kassandra that she was sitting here with the Ghost of Kosmos and… joking around?! It was an insult to her―

“At my core, with all else stripped away, I am a hetaera, Kassandra. We go through immense training and acquire skills that would make Odysseus himself brim with jealousy. A kiss, a playful push. Having one guard distract the other without even realizing it himself. I only wished to know where one might find a theatre in this town, and which one of them would like to attend the newest Aristophanic comedy with me.” 

She gave a “hmph” in return, opening the small piece of parchment and inspecting it, her eyes occasionally darting back to Aspasia’s. 

“A gathering of Ares fanatics? Just outside of Amphipolis? Seems… well… why would the Spartans just allow this? According to this note, their camp practically overlooks the town. A responsible group of soldiers would eliminate the threat.” 

“Yet one among them is allowed safe passage into town whenever he pleases. A bloodthirsty brute with a silver pendant around his neck. That sounds a little… interesting.”

Kassandra brought out the note she’d pulled off of Phratagoune, squinting through the harsh sun and the dried bloodstains. Sent from someone named Konon... a warrior who found distaste in the Huntsman’s use of wild beasts and preferred instead to put his faith in the gods themselves. Ares in particular.

“Great. The Order has dipped their fingers into the pot of honey that belongs to the Followers of Ares. I would really appreciate it if everyone could go _one year_ without spying on each other. Perhaps? If it’s not so much to ask?”

“That’s your next lead, then? This Konon?”

“Hmm. I suppose so, though I’ll need to infiltrate the fort as well. I don’t want to stay in Amphipolis if its teeming with spies and murderers, and it’s a long way to Potidaia”

“Could we camp in the forest?”

“ _We_?” Kassandra asked, giving Aspasia a raised eyebrow. “There is no ‘we’. You need to go back to Athens, or to Miletus… or-or wherever! I told you, I don’t want you here!” 

Aspasia raised her hands in defense, “It’s in nobody’s best interest if these people infiltrate the Greek world. I’ve just proven that I can help you figure out what’s going on!” 

“I already know what’s going on! The Persians are hunting Natakas and his father and― _malaka! Malaka! Malaka!_ ” Kassandra cursed, mentally berating herself for the slip. 

“Who is Natakas? Who is his father?”

“Oh no you don’t!”

Quick as Zeus’ lightning, Aspasia held up her palm. The cut was still fresh, not even stitched, and Kassandra held her gaze upon it for a long moment. 

“Do you think your warning is not fresh in my mind? I might know what it is you speak of. If nothing else, I could just find it out myself, Kassandra.”

“I would kill you if you did.”

“Natakas. I have heard that name in passing but I struggle to remember it. Whispered by one of the Eyes at some point. I’ve had thousands of names whispered to me of course, but few stand out. That one does.” 

The Spear of Leonidas was quickly unsheathed and pointed at a pensive, calm throat. Its owner was lost in thought, trying to recall a simple name. It was a good thing the road was completely empty; a patrol would certainly stop and attempt to intervene in what clearly looked like a robbery or attempted murder. Aspasia didn’t seem to mind the blade.

“Something about Persia, I’m sure of it. It’s been years. A forgotten plan. A forgotten assassination attempt, I’m sure.”

Kassandra relented, but kept her spear raised, merely saying, “Darius.”

“Fuck,” Aspasia whispered, lost in thought as she traced the cut on her palm. “That would do it. That would prompt a second Persian invasion of a secret organization into Greek lands.”

“Do you know anything about him?”

“Only that he did it. Killing Xerxes, I mean. That sort of thing gets around, even if our organizations don’t like speaking with each other. He committed the act that others like him have done for thousands of years and what others like him will do for thousands more. Stubborn malakas, but dedicated, I’ll give them that. When I met you, I knew you were not affiliated with his kind. You’re a very independent sort, uncaring of ideology.”

“You’re so nice to the person who has a spear at your throat.”

“I only mean that… in your slaughtering of the Cult, you didn’t do it because it was the ‘right thing to do’ or because you believe in the machinations of ‘freedom and anarchy’ like Darius and his ilk do. You did it to fuck with us. Revenge.”

“Oh, so you admit that your machinations were the ‘wrong thing to do’?”

“We don’t have the time for debate or justifications, Sokrates. What’s done is done. You’re working alongside Darius and... I assume Natakas is his son?”

Kassandra remained silent. 

“Hunting down one of them nearly thirty years later. We’re talking about spending an insane amount of resources to track a single person across countries, into territory that explicitly hates Persians. That requires diplomacy to assure this is not a conquest but rather a single manhunt; providing something in return for immunity in our lands. Perhaps assisting Sparta in the war? That requires approval from the highest seat of authority in the Empire, Hystaspes― who of course is not outside their sphere of influence by any means. But it does indicate that this hunt is incredibly serious and active, decades later. Awfully passionate for a political organization, don’t you think?”

The sadness in Aspasia’s eyes as she finally addressed the spear at her throat, gently closing her fist around it. Not enough to draw blood, but enough to get Kassandra’s attention. They stood in silence for a moment, with the warrior unsure of the gesture.

“An act of hunting down someone for years. Decades? It’s something you know well, Kassandra. I confronted my fate in the flesh after it hunted me down with a ruthlessness bestowed by Nemesis herself, and now Darius must as well.” 

“What are you saying?”

“All this theatre… _this_ is the action of a very personal revenge. A rage. Someone figured out where Darius was and is sending the entire Order after him. And that someone would only go to this effort if Darius meant something to them. That they would risk invading Cult territory for? Makes you think, doesn’t it?”

“You’re saying there’s more than meets the eye.”

Aspasia let go of the spear, allowing Kassandra to lose herself in thought once more. She’d made a good point, it was an awfully heavy assault into Makedonia for just one man. Malaka, she fucking hated secrecy and deception! Reminded her of those stupid errands Alkibiades sent her on. 

“The question is, Kassandra, why are you here?” 

Fuck, that was a good question. When she’d first arrived, a Persian captain indicated that he was aware of her bloodline. Threatening to end her before he had been assassinated by Darius. Honestly, if that was anything to go by, she’d be smart enough to leave. Take the Adrestia and sink any ship that tried to stop her. And… then what? Barnabas always laughed that there was always more adventure to be had, sights to see and battles to fight. But… to what end? She’d lost most of the people she cared about. The house in Sparta belonged both to herself and Nikolaus, but she’d told him to keep it after Myrinne died. No one left in Kephallonia. She had friends in Athens, but would never be able to apply for citizenship. Not that she wanted it! Her true father was now buried in Samos, in the forests above his hometown. The only true task she harbored was… waiting for a woman who needed the staff more than her? 

“I’m here because someone asked for my help. Darius told me that he killed a tyrant, and that the Persians are now hunting him down and his son. I know his son to be an innocent man, who has only killed in self-defense. A good person who helped injured villagers out of the goodness of his heart.”

Aspasia said nothing, her eyes finally going soft in understanding. 

“There are centuries… millennia of politics behind all this, if you are to be believed, but in this moment all I can think is that if an entire faction would go out of their way to kill a man who tried to do the right thing, and his son who has done nothing… those people are dangerous and must be stopped. I’m here because I want to do the right thing. For once. I don’t want drachmae. I don’t want glory. I just… I want to help someone for the sake of helping them. Because they need it.”

“That’s a pretty good answer,” Aspasia smiled. 

“You think?”

“My head swirls with poison, beseeching me to demean you. To tell you that for every soul that lives in peace, others had to die. That cruelty begets power. Power begets peace. That day, beneath Delphi, I had it all rehearsed. I was ready.”

“What were you going to say?”

“That we were not originally fighting for destruction but rather redirection. To use the pyramid to reshape humanity in our favor. That the Cult does not fight for the singular comforts of love and individuality and self expression but rather for the harmony of all.”

“And yet...” Kassandra sighed. “Every single Cultist had their own agenda, their own selfish ambitions.”

“The truth of the Cult. It’s the truth of the Ancients, and our relationship between each other! It’s surprisingly simple. We are arrogant and selfish and we want to control every waking moment, yet our pledge seems benign. Use technology of old to control all. To further humanity. To further progress. That’s all there is to it! The methods are what make us despicable people. 

“Organizations like us are no different from the First Civilization in that aspect. Do you think they were truly at peace, with millions enslaved? That they did not bicker and scheme among each other as the Cult did? So distracted by an obsession for control that they did not notice humans rise up to defeat them in the name of freedom. They descended into hybrids. Who created bloodlines that carried the tradition of challenging control. And _that_ is why you’re here. It’s in your nature.”

“A long winded way of saying my nature is destruction.”

“Our nature. And the ones who come after us. And the ones that come after them.”

“Why make any effort at all?”

Aspasia laughed. A loud, playful laugh that, surprisingly, caused Kassandra to laugh as well. Two enemies sitting on the side of a dusty road, watching farmers and travelers meander past… laughing together.

“You might as well ask why we breathe the air when Thanatos awaits?” 

“It’s in our nature.”

The Ghost of Kosmos grinned, “Indeed.

Kassandra rolled her eyes and stood, brushing the dirt and pieces of bark from the fallen log off her armor. She turned and offered a hand to Aspasia, who took a deep breath before accepting it. Their hands lingered together for but a moment... afore they distanced themselves as they began to walk back the way they came. 

"Come on, there are Ancients to kill and I can’t pay for a funeral for the great Aspasia if they catch us here. I’ll have Barnabas bring the Adrestia over to Amphipolis and we can stay aboard while we figure this out.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a dialogue heavy chapter. But if you look carefully you may notice a single line from another Assassin's Creed game. Well, 3 words that another Templar once said. Cause I'm a nerd, and I know this franchise like the back of my hand. 
> 
> So, if you didn't already see the note in the last chapter.... I lost my save file, so this will likely be the last chapter for at least 2 weeks while I get back to a point in the game where I can play through the DLC because the chapters are so lore heavy with the actual DLC content. I was able to write this one since it was mostly just Aspasia/Kassandra dialogue. Don't worry, I'm committed. I'll get there; the DLC unlocks once you find Myrinne, and that's only halfway through the game. I made this chapter like an extra 1000 words to tide you over while I get my under-leveled ass handed to me by over-leveled mercenaries.


End file.
